


Skilled

by anexorcist



Category: Newsflesh Trilogy - Mira Grant
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-16
Updated: 2012-11-16
Packaged: 2017-12-04 20:22:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anexorcist/pseuds/anexorcist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So what I’m saying is—“ he gasps through clenched teeth “—your parents chose a pretty fitting name.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skilled

When Shaun comes downstairs in the middle of the night looking for a coke, in an old pair of sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his hips and wearing one of Mahir’s shirts,  _Jesus Christ_ —

Well, it shouldn’t really come as a surprise to anyone that Mahir pushes him against the kitchen counter and the cabinets. But Shaun is  _loud_ , like he’s still aiming for the highest ratings even though there aren’t any cameras, and Mahir doesn’t forget it’s the middle of the night and everyone else is sleeping.

He tries to keep Shaun quiet. His lips trail after the bob of Shaun’s Adam’s apple, followed by his tongue, then his teeth as he slides his fingers into Shaun’s mouth, pressing down on his tongue, and Shaun takes it, eager and greedy.

If anything, he’s louder than before.

Mahir tries again with his mouth on Shaun’s, swallowing the gasps and the long moan of his name - Ma _hiiiir_  - and that sends heat straight to his groin, and he can’t help sending a groan back into Shaun’s mouth.

With strong hands, he brackets the shivers that go through Shaun’s body and rubs his thumbs against the exposed skin of his pale hips. Pushing against Shaun’s hips, Mahir can feel just how hard he is. If he even bothered pulling back, he could probably see it, too— the wet, dark spot of precome through the soft gray material.  _He’s probably not wearing any underwear_ , he thinks.

Later, after five minutes or maybe five hundred years, Shaun’s hands, braced on the counter behind him  to leverage the thrusts of his hips against Mahir’s, move to Mahir’s shoulders. He clings to them as he pulls back for air, and Mahir watches with dazed eyes as a pink tongue darts out and severs the trail of saliva between them. Even with his glasses pushed up on his head, this close, he can see every little detail that makes Shaun’s face his own (and not a blurry mimicry of George’s).

Both of their chests heave for air, moving up and down against each other like the push and pull of the ocean tide. Mahir guesses his lips must be just as shining and wet as Shaun’s are, because he takes his thumb, and in an almost fascinated fashion, traces Mahir’s lower lip, wipes all traces of  _himself_  off.

The calluses on Shaun’s thumb send a jolt through Mahir’s body, and he angles Shaun’s head back so that he can taste the pulse behind his ear, lick up the sweat there, and suck on his jaw. He knows Shaun must be uncomfortable, but Shaun doesn’t seem to mind so Mahir couldn’t care less.

Shaun lets out a breathy chuckle at his eagerness before speaking.

“You know, I looked it up, and your name— _f-fuck, yeah_ ,  _Ma_ hir—it means ‘skilled’.”

“So— _what_ ,” Mahir manages, while switching his attention to the other side of Shaun’s throat. He slips a hand under  _his_  shirt and flicks Shaun’s nipple before pinching it, drawing a desperate noise from the other man. Shaun pushes up and against the counter, squeezing Mahir’s shoulders as he arches against him.

“So what I’m saying is—“ he gasps through clenched teeth “—your parents chose a pretty fitting name.”

Mahir stills against him, letting his head fall to Shaun’s shoulder as he groans. Even though it’s not one of those sounds that he makes when Shaun nudges his knee between Mahir’s thighs and lets him ride it, it still has the same effect.

“Can we  _not_  bring up my parents while we’re—“ he waves his hand in the air. Thankfully, for Shaun, it isn’t the one tweaking his nipple.

“Do you mean,” Shaun smiles, “while we’re  _fucking_?”

Mahir rolls his hips forward in retaliation, drawing a breathless gasp from him, before moving back and rubbing a hand down his face. The familiarity of the gesture makes Shaun’s stomach knot in fondness and he didn’t think he could want this, want Mahir  _inside_  of him, more than he does right now.

“If you hadn’t noticed, we didn’t quite  _get_  there, because you decided to congratulate my parents on their choice of  _naming me_ —“

“Well, hop to it,” Shaun rolls his hips, too, and for the moment, it’s almost like a dirty version of tug-of-war between them, pushing back and forth and back and forth. “For my next trick, I’ll thank your dad for how  _well-endowed_  you are—“

“If you would so kindly shut the  _bloody_  fuck up.”

Mahir presses his lips to Shaun’s again, swallowing his bark of laughter, and it’s like flicking a switch because the rest of their bodies dive back into motion – Mahir’s warm palm against his chest and his hands in Mahir’s hair.

Shaun pulls back to let out a loud moan like he’s  _trying_ to wake everyone up on  _purpose_.

With Mahir’s luck, probably more than one of them has already woken up from the noise (he’ll blame Shaun later, because really, he’s the conductor on this crazy train to God knows where, but they’ll probably say Mahir’s just as guilty because  _he didn’t get off_ —well. No. He’s getting off right  _now_ —)

He bites Shaun’s tongue before sucking on it, and it’s a mostly effective method to shutting him up that Mahir’s managed to pick up since they started—(he mentally waves his hand in the air again).

When Shaun finally,  _blessedly_ , shoves his hands down his pants, Mahir decides it’s time to stop thinking. Time to just do whatever his body’s telling him to do, whatever Shaun’s body is telling him to do.

He’ll have time after – when Shaun’s loose, opened up and warm against his side – to figure out what  _this_ , what  _they_ , are called. Maybe he’ll blog about it. Then again, maybe he won’t.


End file.
